


Bed + Breakfast

by banhmi



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Climbing Class, Hand Jobs, M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 21:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9204296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banhmi/pseuds/banhmi
Summary: A cozy morning, wandering hands, bad video game analogies, and the prospect of an omelette. Just two guys being dudes. In bed. Together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try writing something like this and so here it is. No idea what I'm doing, so apologies in advance. Happy New Year, and hope you enjoy!!

Sunbeams wade in through the window on motes of dust, glinting on their edges before tumbling in stripes across their bed. When a fleck of sun catches his eye, Chris turns away from the window and rolls over onto his left side, shying away under the covers. After finding a good spot, he brings his phone back up to his face and squints, hoping to maintain a touch of that snowy drowsiness that blankets your lids in the morning.

He gets about halfway through his feed before the bed shifts. He peers over his shoulder as another face appears before him, flush with warmth.

“Wakey wakey,” Chris murmurs.

The rest of the phrase rumbles in fragments in Josh’s throat as he shifts forward and presses himself into Chris’ back, one arm reaching over his belly to pull him closer. He noses into Chris’ shoulder as his body deflates. Within seconds his breathing slows and he stops shifting.

“Alright...no wakey.” He chuckles and snuggles his head back into his pillow, preparing to peruse the rest of his feed.

One thumb scroll later: Josh’s hand slides from the curve of his stomach to the base of his thigh, fingers toying with the drawstrings of his sweats.

“‘M awake,” Josh mumbles, lifting his head to Chris’ neck and nuzzling it, laying down a few sloppy kisses at the curve of his jawline. He doesn’t retreat afterwards; his weight exerts a comfortable pressure.  

“Mm, and just when I thought I was getting comfy, too.”

Josh sniffs. “Hey, you started it.”

“Yes, but you _lulled me_ into a false sense of security.”

“As I am inclined to do.”

“As you are inclined to do.”

Silence follows, punctuated by Chris’ fingers tapping against his phone screen. Sleep paws at his eyes. His fingers start to lose traction until a jolt flits through him as Josh’s voice runs low against his ear, more a vibration than a sound. “You up for some fun?”

“Hm.” He smiles to himself and continues scrolling (a little slower). “What kind of fun?”

“Need a tech demo?”

Thumb hovering over a Kotaku article, he says, “Tech demo, huh? Is that all you’ve got?”

“After the tech demo comes the proof of concept, right? S’at how it works in your nerd lingo?”

Chris opens his mouth, a knot of words ready to unravel preceded by a ‘well, _actually_ ’ poised on his tongue. A clipped laugh comes out of him instead as Josh stops him before he can start, pushing off the bed for leverage so that their mouths meet in crossed lines.

“Just say yes,” Josh says, tugging Chris onto his back.

Chris heeds the silent request, settling into place as Josh sidles up close against him and props his head on one hand. They gaze at each other, eyes soft in the dusty light. “Okay: yes,” Chris says, “that’s how it works. So...show me what you’ve got for Saturday Con 20—”

The rest fades into breath as Josh’s hand splays against him, third finger teasing, grazing. It moves in a slow ellipse, index and ring fingers holding flat the front of his sweats.

Chris sighs and shifts his legs and looks up at Josh, who grins and says, “Saturday Con 20 off to a rollicking good start. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I dunno,” Chris says, pressing his forehead into Josh’s folded arm. “Lag’s a bit rough.”

“ _Whoa_. Harsh. Not even a minute into the gameplay and you’re already tearing it apart.”

“If we’re already lagging at this stage…I dunno, man.”

“Don’t worry. I _promise_ the sewer level will be everything you wanted _and more_.”

Chris considers the statement before he scrunches his face and snorts. “The...sewer...lev—what the hell, bro, that’s effed up!”

“It’s your favourite, isn’t it?”

“Stop.”

“I’m just asking _a simple question_ , bro—”

“ _Oh my god_ , stop!”

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop.” And Josh’s hand rests flat.

“What? No.”

“No?”

“ _No_.”

“No…”

“Okay. There’s like, at least 4 articles I wanna read right now that are _sure_ to titillate me, so if you don’t mind getting off of me…”

Chris goes through the motion of sitting up, only to be held down by a broad hand on his chest. He smirks.

“There’s only one person here who’s gonna get off,” Josh says.

“Oh?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Gee, sure hope it’s someone in this room.”

Josh winces, shakes his head. “Bro, I’m trying to set a mood here. I _don’t_ need to think of my family like that, got it?”

“By all means, continue, good sir.”

“If I looked in your jacket pocket right now, would I find a calling card for Satan?”

Chris shrugs, the solemn face he tries to maintain dissolving in seconds. “Maybe, but if so that’s because I forgot to return it to you.”

“ _Thanks_ ,” Josh says, and he lets his arm fall for a moment so that he can bend down for a kiss, the gesture broken up by the two of them giggling. Light-hearted, for sure, but Chris is still hyper-aware of the hand on him, keeps track of the feeling even after it leaves.

Quiet pulls over them as they separate, like a summer surf washing scrawls away in the sand and leaving it blank and malleable. The sun still streams dim, and yet their skin glows warmly. Chris takes Josh’s hand and slides it under the covers.

Same as before: gentle and precise. Chris focuses on the sensation, letting the outline of his body turn to cotton as he relaxes, takes in the weight of Josh’s forearm along the line of his hip. A sigh flows out of him.

“Good?”

“Mmhm...”

“Good.”

Warmth dapples his belly before it sinks further, and, slowly, Josh coaxes a peak out of his dick. He shifts, tucks his left arm behind his head as he leans towards Josh’s chest. He supposes Josh takes that as a signal, what with the way his thumb brushes along the bottom edge of his belly and hooks into his sweats. His hand carries heat with it, heel trailing heavy underneath the band, fingers tracing streaks of sunlight to the inside of his thigh.

Chris angles for a moment so that he rubs up against Josh’s hovering thumb, frowning at the way fingertips sketch lines over his skin but never make proper contact. Josh’s chuckling rumbles next to his ear.  

“Jerk,” he mumbles, using his free hand to try and guide Josh’s in the right direction. It doesn’t work. It only stretches the fabric of his sweats as Josh pushes back against him. He huffs and rests his hand over his stomach.

“Don’t lie. You love it,” Josh says, his nails drifting back and forth.

Chris squirms and bites his lip. “Only for so long.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” and Josh drops his voice, “I’ll be done with you before then.”

Despite the leisureliness of Josh’s technique, his heartbeat had crept up to a steady trill. This only makes it worse. His cheeks splotch red and a blink of pleasure chases the blood pulsing through him. “You think?” he asks.

“I know. Just watch me,” Josh replies, working his hand into Chris’ boxers. Touching at the folds, he teases between them with ease and takes his time exploring.

Chris pockets a groan in his throat as a slick finger drags up and around him, can’t stop himself from bucking into Josh’s palm.

“Settle _down,_ ” Josh says, sounding scandalized. “All in due time, bro. Damn, though. You’re fucking _wet_.”

“ _Fuck_ , Josh,” Chris manages to grit out, trying to pepper his tone with annoyance—and failing—as Josh hooks his fourth finger and combs it over him, catching the edge of his hood. He does that several times and Chris squeezes his eyes shut, fidgeting. He almost loses it and his head fills with what feels like hazy cake icing.

“Sweet sentiment, Cochise, but we’re focusing on you this morning.”

He’ll have to get back at him later. He _will_. Jerk. For now?

Not another word out of him. Too much work to put phrases together. A line of sweat rolls down his temple, and even without moving he can feel his shirt clinging to his stomach. He focuses on keeping himself together and on keeping himself still, bearing down as his body threatens to let go. But god _damn_ Josh has him figured out, switching up whenever he tries to counter his hand. If he loses control, Josh applies pressure with his forearm to hold him down and stops touching him, waiting for his huffing to slim out before resuming (really it only works him up even _more_ ). Soon, his fingers move more smoothly and Chris can picture how glossy they must look. Despite his urge to keep his forehead flush with Josh’s chest, he withdraws to look up at him and catches him in the middle of licking his lips. He attempts to send out a glare.

“Hey,” Josh says, his voice catching (probably not because of the glare). His pupils have bloomed into full black discs, while his jaw sits slack. His attention is on Chris entirely and what did he do to deserve such a sight? Even in his slightly astigmatic fervour he can see the sunbeams threading gold through unruly curls and ribboning over muscles and who decided that such a fucking asshole-with-finger-dexterity-Chopin-would-envy could look like that? Travesty. Absolute travesty and what was he thinking about again? Dammit. 

Chris almost forgets that he needs to maintain his composure and moans when Josh’s fingers make a precise pass over him. “ _Dude_ ,” he hisses. “This is—unreal. You’re way way _way_ ,” —he pauses, closing his eyes and grimacing as Josh works him up and cools off in the same beat— “too good at this. What the _hell_.”

Josh has to pause before he responds. Chris finds satisfaction in taking responsibility for that. “It’s _amazing_ what you can learn from Youtube.”

“Youtube. You sure there weren’t...a few letters missing? ...Maybe there was a different letter….entirely?”

A kiss on the forehead. “Minor details, Cochise.”

“Yeah, ok…” He lies back and blinks. Then he lifts his head and catches Josh’s lips with his own, guiding him down until his weight domes over his chest.

They make a few exchanges, mouths meeting misaligned several times before they get it right. Chris’s ability to reciprocate diminishes as Josh begins anew, swiping his fingers back and forth, rubbing gently on the sides, spiraling the pad of his index around the tip. Slowly, he convinces Chris to spread his legs wider, allows him to set a rhythm with his hips (jittery as it may be). Gets him, too, to moan against his mouth instead of kissing him back.

No doubt about it: he’s short-circuiting. An unrelenting heat sears his gut and every nerve in him feels lit with a million messages each (duplicates and triplicates abound, all saying the same yes, yes, _yes!_ ). It strums through the layers of his brain before tumbling back down as sweat and shaky hands and curling toes. God. Getting there.     

He spots the clock on the side table, squints to make the face clearer.

Twenty-nine minutes.

Twenty-nine minutes, twenty-nine minutes. And— _there_. Thirty.

Tilting his hips into Josh’s hand, he breathes hard and hot and Josh obliges him, quickening his fingers and leaning heavier in to him.  

“Do you want something?” Josh asks him.

Chris would have replied—or tried to, anyway—with something sharp if his brain would cooperate. As it stands, though, it feels like a pile of snowflakes, edges soft in his skull and he says a little something like: “Please, _yes_ ,” and that’s that.

Josh’s fingers circle and flick over his dick one last time _just right_ and his hips stutter and his body goes tense and his brain fountains into tines and tines of flakes, shimmering under his eyelids. He can’t be sure if he’s making any noise, or if his muscles still work, or if it’s still 11:31am on a Saturday. Josh rubs him a few more times, getting a twitch out of him with each pass even as he relaxes and slumps back into his pillow. His chest heaves while he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.

“You tryin’ to kill me?” Chris asks, voice quiet and stilted. He becomes aware of the sweat soaking through his shirt. And his boxers. Hm. To Josh’s smirk, he says, “Let me guess. That’s in the DLC.”

“How’d you know?”

“Release date?”

“Well...for _you_ …” He puts on a contemplative look, his fingers moving gently, although Chris doesn’t get much out of it except for a dull tingle roaming round the base of his thighs.

“I’ll make you a signature Hartley omelette with bacon and hash browns?”

“Oh _shit_ ,” Josh says, perking up. Then he raises a brow. “Hold on, you sure about that? You sure it’s not gonna be _me_ who’s making an omelette out of _you_?”

“Very astute observation,” Chris says. “Uh, question: are you going to _eat_ the omelette?”

Josh gives him a lofty look. “Which omelette?”

Chris opens his mouth, pauses, laughs at the nudge in his side and Josh repeating ‘ _which omelette, bro_?’ He clears his throat loudly and puts on a movie star smoulder. “You’ve... _always_ enjoyed breakfast in bed, haven’t you?”

Josh replies with a thoughtful hum. After wringing his fingers in the fabric of Chris’ boxers, he flops onto his back and works the stiffness out of them. Flexes them, stretches them. That also includes putting each of them into his mouth and cleaning them off. Meticulously. Chris watches with wide eyes, swallows just as they make eye contact.  

“Just whetting my appetite,” Josh whispers, and Chris is a goddamn spread of butter under the knife of his voice.

He rolls over and Josh seems to have expected him, arms open and ready to pull him on top; they close in simultaneously and share a few kisses, groaning in turn as they move against each other. A hand cups the side of his neck and trails down to the small of his back, he ducks his face into Josh’s shoulder. Without thinking he rocks his hips, sighing as hot breath followed by lips tend to the skin behind his ear.

“I’m not sure if you’re gonna be able to stand up after all this,” Josh says.

“Maybe, but one thing’s for sure. Which I’m sure you’ll be pleased about.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

Chris pulls back with a lopsided smile. “Either way, you're getting a Hartley Omelette." 


End file.
